


Simply the Best

by GreenGold



Series: Smoldering [1]
Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:55:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22676752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenGold/pseuds/GreenGold
Summary: A familiar face surprises builder Mel in Portia. Is the pair destined to a lifelong rivalry or will they forge a new fate?
Relationships: Builder/Higgins (My Time At Portia), Female Builder/Higgins (My Time At Portia)
Series: Smoldering [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673683
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Perfect Strangers

**Author's Note:**

> Builder Mel is closer to mid-20s, not the canon 18 or 19. This chapter contains mild spoilers about the builder's childhood family makeup. Later chapters will contain mission and story spoilers.

Mel handed her workshop registration over to Presley. It had been a whirlwind month. One moment she was plodding through her dull little life with Aunt Kendra in Barnarock, with only the occasional carefully budgeted trip to spice things up. Now she was the newest resident and builder in Portia, finally living on her own.

After inspecting her registration, Presley exclaimed, "You're a bonafide workshop owner! Your Pa would've been so proud!"

How sweet. The slender man in front of her had more genuine enthusiasm for her than she could ever remember Pa having.

"Let me explain some of the processes of our trade," Presley continued, "Here at the Portia office, we post workshop commissions every day on the board over there."

Mel nodded, glancing over his shoulder. The unfinished wooden board seemed out of place, framed as it was by the Commerce Guild's regal white marble floors and rich blue wallpaper.

"Based on the speed and quality of results, we make a ranking of the workshops every week listed on the wall behind me," Presley explained.

"There are other workshops in Portia?" Mel asked.

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how silly the question sounded. It was not as though Portia would've limped along for years without any builders, importing what it needed until Mel the Big Shot Builder sailed in to save the city.

"Oh yes," Presley said, clearly happy to share his love of local commerce with her, "adding yours, there will be five workshops in our jurisdiction. Besides the ranking list, you also have a workshop rating, which is listed on your license. The higher your rating, the higher quality commissions you can get. But don't worry, if you have your father's work ethic, you'll be number one in no time."

Ratings and rankings, huh? Mel smiled and let her mind drift while Presley talked, imagining what it would be like to run the best workshop, to be the best builder. She was the type who adored recognition and praise. Perhaps it felt like validation of an inherited trait like Presley suggested, a tie to her Pa. Or maybe it was due to growing up without parents and needing to earn acceptance in the absence of the unconditional sort an immediate family provides. Or maybe she was just competitive.

"Anyway," Presley's voice cut through her daydream, "since this is your first commission, I've kept one just for you."

He pulled a paper out of his right pocket and held it out. Before she could take it, another hand cut in from her right and snatched it away.

"Playing favorites, are we?" the stranger sneered.

Mel's eyes followed the stolen paper, finding it now held near a tapered waist. Her eyes trailed up the well-dressed body. The stranger's collared shirt, tie, and vest were not quite as formal as Presley's bespoke suit, but they still showed that the wearer was socially conscious. This was a man who could afford decent clothing, who cared about first impressions and about looking presentable to his neighbors. Mel's fingers played with her shirt's hem, suddenly uncharacteristically self-conscious. What had she worn to Portia? A t-shirt, torn denim, and old boots. Peering up at the stranger, she found a strong, wide jaw, a cunning smirk, high cheekbones, short and styled black hair, and captivating dark eyes looking directly into hers- oh, Peach. This man looked strikingly similar to a man she met at a bar while vacationing alone in Sandrock a couple years ago. Hilton? Briggins?

"Higgins! You already took one today!" Presley chided.

Higgins. That was it. Her eyes widened and she blushed, recalling how drinks in the bar had ended in a night of passion back in her hotel room. There was no hint of recognition on Higgins' face while they maintained eye contact. Then he looked away, back to Presley.

"There are never too many commissions," Higgins laughed, waving the paper as he sauntered out the door. "Good day!"

Watching him walk away, Mel felt a heat rise in her. It was a thrilling mix of indignation, budding competition, and arousal. Who was he to take her first commission? How dare he act like he had never met her! She was certain he had not forgotten her. They had not been that drunk and there had been some particularly memorable acts...unless...well, she did meet him a while ago. He could be in a relationship now. He had to be, Mel reasoned. He was clever, smartly dressed, and the owner of the best workshop in Portia. Or, her mind wandering...she did meet him while he was on a business trip. He could have been in a relationship the first time she met him. Her stomach dropped. That would certainly explain him acting as though they had never met and leaving abruptly.

"That runt," Presley complained, oblivious to Mel's growing dismay. "He's the owner of the current number one workshop. Brilliant businessman, but I don't like the way he does things."

"Oh?" Mel cut in, hoping Presley would elaborate.

He took the bait. "So cutthroat. I wouldn't call him unprincipled and he is hard-working, it's just- well, if you're not a Gol or a member of his family, you're not important to him."

"F-family?" Mel stammered.

Bright Sun above and Darkness below, a family! There was no way Higgins could have met someone, courted them, married, and procreated in the time since their tryst. In all likelihood she had met him as a husband and father. Not that she could have known, but still...she was the newcomer. If news of their illicit acquaintance were to get out, it could have long-term repercussions for her career and business relationships here.

"You can hardly fault a man with a family for working hard," Mel added, hoping to keep Presley talking and cover up any hints that she may have met him prior. She could pretend they were perfect strangers too.

"It's more than that, you'll see," Presley responded. "I admit I've never actually met any of his family. He's a bit of a loner. I think his siblings and parents live far away, on the outskirts of Portia."

A loner? Parents and siblings? Relief washed over her. Right, most people had families like that. Just because a man was clean-cut, wealthy, and good with his hands did not mean he was necessarily married.

"Well, I'm sorry," Presley apologized, "that was our last one today."

The doors of the Commerce Guild flew open, kicked in by a handsome stranger. The newcomer was tall with an exotic accent and an eye-catching mess of red hair.

"Hey Pres! I've got a job for ya!"

Presley and the newcomer, Arlo she learned, discussed a bridge-building project they had in mind. In the company of yet another beautiful human, Mel began to wonder what it was about Portia. Was there something in the water here? Were they all this handsome and well-dressed? Portia had a less harsh climate than Barnarock, maybe that left the residents more time for preening. Perhaps it was a cultural expectation. Mel would have to pay attention to the others, she thought, eventually get herself some new clothes once she could afford it.

The simplest explanation to her darting, amorous gaze was that it had been too long since she had enjoyed the company of another in her bed. Living with her aunt while she worked to save money for the move left nowhere to host a guest and little time to find one. A little intimacy was long overdue. Unfortunately, finding someone, even for a short-term arrangement, would require patience and restraint. She wanted to settle in Portia, build a life here. Business matters and platonic relationships needed to be her priority. Mel quietly sighed, a resigned little huff in memoriam of her tragic newfound celibacy, before returning her attention to the conversation about a bridge to Amber Island.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references events in the posted, in-progress prequel "Tempest" detailing their very first encounter.

The sun was starting to set by the time Mel closed her workshop gates and started toward the city proper. She had spent the afternoon in her yard working on a small commission for Martha. It had been nice to work on something small and less labor-intensive after a morning of mining in the abandoned ruins. While life in Barnarock had required manual labor, Mel was not accustomed to hours of breaking rocks with a crude pickaxe.

She stopped by the fountain in Peach Plaza. The sight of it stunned her when she first saw it in Portia. Their roads were dirt, their Church perched haphazardly atop a crumbling tower, but they treated water as no more than a decoration. But then she remembered that Portia was on the sea and surrounded by rivers. While a fountain would be an extravagant waste back in the desert, it was a rather unremarkable ornament here. The townsfolk hardly seemed to notice it. And now visiting it had become her little routine. Any time she entered the city or left the ruins, she rinsed the sweat and dirt off her calloused hands. Seeing it and using its water still felt reverential to her.

"Hi, Isaac," she said, greeting the old man next to her.

Isaac was engaged in some sort of ritualistic stretching. She had seen him doing the same thing by the fountain on other evenings. His movements were more fluid and flexible than she expected of someone his age. He continued in silence, slowly pushing and pulling his hands as though they were floating on an invisible wave.

Finally, he stopped and nodded at her, "Young builder."

He must have forgotten her name. To be fair, they had only met briefly and he was the oldest resident in Portia, at least of those she had met. Polite company would graciously assist the other through such a social encounter.

"Is there any other?" she quipped with a wink and a smile. "It's Mel."

"Bah, I didn't forget your name!" Isaac said with a light-hearted tone and theatrical scowl. "How old do you think I am?"

Mel laughed, a bubbly mix of nerves and amusement.

"Oh, don't answer that," he added. "I was thinking of your colleague by the Western Gate. I concede that fool isn't terribly young."

Higgins. The faintest blush crept up her neck at the unexpected mention of him. She had not seen him since their brief encounter in the Commerce Guild earlier in the week. While she had not sought to purposely avoid him, Mel was content to postpone what promised to be an uncomfortable re-introduction after the way he had snubbed her. She would need to think about how to approach him to clear the air, as she doubted he reciprocated her interest in being casual lovers.

Antoine had told her that Higgins was always the first one through the Commerce Guild's doors when they unlocked each morning, hurriedly grabbing the best commission on the board. While good to know, the information was not useful to her yet. She was too inexperienced and her workshop too low-ranking to take the jobs Higgins sought. Besides, she was incredibly slow to rise in the morning with how poorly she was sleeping due to the state of disrepair her home was in. There were drafts that snuck in through sections of the floor that had rotted, small rodents at home in the walls, and the entire structure seemed to creak loudly in the strong winds that sometimes swept the meadow.

Drawing her mind back to the conversation, Mel forced herself to continue talking with Isaac and redirect their discussion.

"What were you doing? Stretching?"

Isaac's mouth hinted at a smile.

"It's a Seesaian martial art."

"Oh." The builder frowned. "I thought martial arts were sparring?"

Isaac smiled in earnest. He seemed genuinely happy to share his knowledge with her, even if his tone bordered on smug.

"Ah, Mel. All sparring, at least all that we do, is a martial art. But not all martial arts involve sparring. What you're used to focuses on the external, on physical fitness. The slow movements I do focus on the internal."

This left Mel with more questions. How would a physical exercise improve the mind? Or maybe he was referring to something else? Would she sound unintelligent if she asked? She never would have hesitated to ask the elders in Barnarock. Something about Isaac or Portia made her pause. She wanted to impress him, them. After she failed to fill the pause in conversation, he continued.

"You're welcome to join me. Even a youngster like you would benefit from it."

The same small frown pulled at the corner of her lips. Having a stretching buddy for the evening did sound nice. What was the alternative? Another night sore and alone in her dilapidated home. Mel was reasonably certain the offer was extended as a courtesy rather than a sincere interest in her company though.

"I'm on an errand this evening. Thank you for the offer, truly," she said, meaning it. Better to play it safe. "Have a good evening, Isaac!"

He bid her farewell then she began the trek down to Central Plaza. Her rucksack pulled uncomfortably on her aching shoulders, weighed down by a metal pail and the pair of wooden mortars and pestles stowed in the largest compartment. She was proud of her work on the latter. It was her first time making them. Well, first time if you disregarded the several failed protoypes she tossed into the fuel pile near the stone furnace.

She just hoped Martha would find them to her liking. It was quite possible that a professional baker would have different standards for her equipment than Mel had for her own kitchen. Such a well-paying commission demanded the best she could provide, or better. Her stomach flipped nervously. Perhaps she should have stayed to stretch with Isaac, calm herself down a little before turning her first true commission in. No, she told herself, taking command of her nerves. The worst that could happen was a refusal and a return to the workbench with a better idea of how a better set could be crafted.

Approaching the bakery, she forced a grin and called out, "Martha!"

The baker greeted her with a big smile and a cheerful, "Mel, hello. So good to see you!"

Mel knelt down and took the mortars and pestles out of her bag.

"I brought something for you. Let me know if you think they'll work for what you need."

Martha took them and barely looked them over before setting them on a shelf behind her and retrieving the payment.

"They look perfect! Someone," she cast a glance over toward her son, who was sitting outside working on homework, "took my only one out on an adventure and returned it in pieces. I can only imagine how Toby managed to break a ceramic mortar. Thought it better to get wood this time and have a spare ready."

Mel nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. This had been easier than her critical mind had expected. Unless manners here dictated Martha accept a completed commission in any conditio- no. No use worrying now.

"Glad you like it."

"Of course! Now I can start baking my herb breads again. Speaking of, are you hungry?" Martha asked.

"Ahh..." Mel began.

"Oh, what am I saying?" Martha interrupted. "Of course you are, you just moved here. Let me get you something."

Martha pulled a cloth from a crate behind her register and laid it out flat. As she began stacking loaves of bread on it, Mel tried to stop her.

"No, please, you don't need to-"

Martha held up a hand to cut her objection short.

"Mel, I may be a business owner but I'm also a mom. I can't stand to see someone's child go hungry." Then under her breath, "Peach knows I'll need to trust in the kindness of strangers once my Toby is old enough to venture out on his own."

"Thank you. You're too kind," Mel said as the older woman completed the wheaty pyramid, "But I'm not sure I can eat all that."

"Please, I've heard you spend all day in the ruins."

What a peculiar thing for her to know. Even the most mundane gossip spread quickly here.

"Not all day," Mel replied, emphasizing the second word. 

Martha shot her a glance that stopped her protests once more.

"Are you eating enough?"

Of course Aunt Kendra had taught her to cook and she had brought a nice metal pot with her. But in all the excitement of starting a new life she had yet to forage or head out to her neighbors' farms to buy food. Instead she had been stopping by The Round Table when the hunger became too much to ignore.

"I...I've been to The Round Table," she stammered.

"Two or three times per day?" Martha challenged, looking directly at Mel.

The baker was the very picture of a disappointed mother. Or, based on Mel's personal experience, at least a displeased aunt. Mel looked down at her feet, suddenly feeling guilty. She only stopped by the restaurant once daily. In her defense, she tried to pack half of her meals away in her rucksack so the food would cover a second mealtime. She knew better than to mention that to Martha though.

"That's what I thought," Martha said. Her gaze dropped down to focus on the knot she was tying to hold all the bread together. "We both know how much my commission and others at its level pay."

"You job paid well! Especially for the materials and effort required."

Another pointed glare.

"That it's a lot for you is telling. Take the bread," Martha said, holding it out.

Still, Mel hesitated. Maybe she was supposed to play a part and refuse. She had not been here long enough to get a feel for the local customs.

"See it as a thank you. Higgins won't touch jobs like mine. I have to hope one of the workshops on the outskirts of Portia picks up jobs like this for their apprentice builders. I'd be waiting weeks for it to be picked up and filled. Thanks to you, I don't need to wait."

"Thank you, Martha," she replied, finally accepting the bundle.

Tonight she would eat well.

Mel said her goodbyes to Martha and Toby before wandering off toward the heart of Central Plaza. Not yet ready to head home, Mel looked for a place to sit. The enormous tree had several benches beneath it perfect for resting while lazily enjoying her bread. She settled on the southern one so she could watch the meadow beyond gate. The air here was sweetly perfumed by flowers growing beneath the tree. The distant grasses gently swayed with the wind. Hopefully the winds would remain mild tonight so she could sleep more comfortably.

The sky to her right glowed purple as the sun, nowhere to be seen behind the city buildings and faraway ruins, settled below the horizon. It was no Barnarock sunset, but it would do. The sunsets in her hometown were known for their remarkable beauty. The only natural beauty to be found there, really. In her hometown the weather was oppressive, the vegetation uninspired, the lands all dry dirt and desert. As she sat in the plaza, she thought she could faintly hear the rush of the nearby waterfall. Its mist was just visible over the city wall to her left. Portia had such a relaxed and welcoming natural beauty.

Remington patrolled the stretch of wall beneath the mist. Near him, a couple younger residents Mel had yet to meet chatted on benches. For a brief moment she considered going over to introduce herself, then decided against it. She was content to relax and merely enjoy the proximity of others.

Besides, it had been a labor-intensive day and she had yet to properly wash off. Built on the Western Sea further from the equator, Portia saw a much cooler and more humid springtime than her hometown in Barnarock. Dirt and sweat clung to her clothes and skin, she never felt fully dry. Talking to Isaac and Martha while dirty was far easier and less socially damaging than introducing herself to people who were closer to her age and possibly single. There would be other days.

The bread Mel had broken off to eat as her dinner was gone, the other residents had retreated to their homes. Overhead, the stars grew more visible against the darkening night sky. She would need to leave now if she wanted to make her trek to the river at a reasonable hour. Each night, she carried a bucket down to the river to retrieve water to boil. Tonight she had had the foresight to bring it along to Martha's. The water she carried back would be boiled for use as as drinking water, laundering clothes, and her sponge bath. While she was unsure of where others acquired their water, she was wholly certain it would be bad form to fill her pail in the fountain. She already felt a little strange for being the only one who rinsed her hands there.

She stood and reached her arms toward the moon. The slow stretch brought a measure of relief to her poor muscles. She really should take it easy tomorrow in the mines, and maybe join Isaac to stretch in the evening. She tied the bundle of bread to her rucksack, then threw it over her shoulder and set off for the river.

Just before she reached the Western Gate, a door to her right slammed shut. She reflexively looked over. Higgins. It was Higgins. That's right, Isaac said he lived over here. She had assumed he lived closer to the center of the city, where most of the residential buildings were concentrated and...oh. Mel found herself frozen in place, staring, not a muscle moved since she noticed him.

Dark hair fell across his forehead in damp clumps. The cuffs of his shirt had been unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. His face glistened in the red glow of the furnaces between them. Had he been working this late into the night? 

He remained focused, walking purposefully down his steps to one of the furnaces along the wall. Bending down, he opened the grate to the firebox and a few flames spilled out to lick the exterior. The flare of light from below gave his angular features a devilish look. Then he stood up, walked away, retrieved an armful of wood from a neat stack by his building, and returned to add the fuel to the firebox. The process repeated over and over. He worked without slowing, even as he began to drip sweat.

Higgins was mesmerizing like this. Beautiful, engrossed in his work, unkempt, all intensity and ambition even late at night when he expected no audience. She could watch him forever.

The first furnace adequately fueled for the night, he closed the grate and began to approach the second one nearer to her. Her shadowy form must have finally registered in his peripheral vision because he looked over to her now. He stopped walking. They stared at each other for several long moments. He kept his expression carefully neutral, but his extended pause told her he remembered her. He must also be struggling to find the right words for this sort of reintroduction. Ordinarily she would have planned out her side of a conversation like this and all the turns it could take, but she had been putting that off. Mel had not intended to approach Higgins so soon.

"You must be," he said, finally breaking the silence, "the competition!"

"My name is Mel," she replied with narrowed eyes, her tone accusatory.

He replied evenly, "Higgins."

Great. He was pretending this was truly their first meeting, even without any witnesses like there had been in the Commerce Guild. For someone so hard-working, he sure was eager to make her do all the emotion work.

"You know who I am."

She put her hands on her hips in a display of courage she did not feel. While he said nothing, a denial was markedly absent. Peach, what to say...suggest they pretend it never happened without getting into details? Feign offense that he forgot her?

"The 'pretty little Bandirat' from that penthouse suite in Sandrock," she elaborated, throwing his words back at him.

Wow, okay. Some spirit more self-assured than her and with a much better memory had possessed her mouth and let those words tumble out. Flawless timing, honestly.

He gave no response. Mel would have been quiet in his place too, she sounded so confident.

"Maybe I can jog your memory..."

The bold spirit pulled her from the place she had been frozen to and brought her closer to Higgins. She stepped into his personal space, her hand reaching out to gently hold his cheek.

"I-I...let's not...it was a one-time" he sputtered before stepping away from her, his cheeks red and eyes wide.

She stayed put as he retreated from her touch. Despite his passion at the hotel all that time ago, he had required some convincing. He was her best chance at an easy lay here and she already knew they had good chemistry in bed. His apparent interest in maintaining a professional distance was an asset; she would not need to worry about him wanting a more serious relationship. She saw no reason they could not secretly indulge.

"It's just us here," she said, motioning at the empty plaza around them."No strings attached- no effect on your professional life, no one would know."

Distance from her gave him the space he needed to rebuild his self-control and composure. Blush gone, expression serious, he responded.

"No. I can't have any distractions from my work here in Portia."

He might be serious. What a shame.

"Ah, yes," Mel replied in mock understanding. "I did see you get all sweaty throwing your wood into that hot box. You know, there is a more fun versio-"

He cut her off by holding up a hand, "You can tease me all you want. It's not happening again."

He remained resolute. Mild taunting and a direct invite failed her here where they had not before. Oh well. She would not keep pressuring him after receiving "no." At least she could tell herself she tried. But if he were going to invite her to provoke him...

"Tease you all I want?" she smiled and cocked her head to the side. "I just might take you up on that, boss," she added with a wink.

Mel saw his nostrils flare as the hand held up dropped into a fist by his hips. It seemed she had struck a nerve using the title he had liked so much when they fucked. She wondered if the anger might give way to lust, but he turned on his heel and left her outside.

A laugh escaped her lips. It was satisfying to see the way she affected him, even if it had not lead to the carnal release she had hoped for. She blew a kiss to the closed door and skipped down to the river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And a big thanks for the encouraging comments and kudos on the last chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter distantly inspired by "Perfect Strangers" by Jonas Blue ft JP Cooper and, to a greater degree, my love of prominent cheekbones and rarepairs.


End file.
